


Seven Year Ache

by Bluebluebaby



Category: Last Tango In Halifax
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, the subtext it burns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:35:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23166340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebluebaby/pseuds/Bluebluebaby
Summary: Post S05E04.In which Caroline and Gillian accept that they're each other's person. And have been, for quite some time.(Or: are you kidding me, sally wainwright)
Relationships: Gillian Greenwood/Caroline McKenzie-Dawson
Comments: 187
Kudos: 243





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> after literally screaming through that finale, i've composed myself and gotten to work. make social distancing work for you!!

Caroline McKenzie-Dawson understands life, on the molecular level.

Carbon. Hydrogen. Oxygen. Nitrogen. Sulfur. Phosphorus. For all that her students complain of organic chemistry, it _makes sense_. 

Life, in the grandiose, fate-and-the-universe sense? Utter and complete madness. 

This observation flits through her head, amidst the din of shit pop music and Gillian’s game of _spotting sapphics in the social sphere_. 

Here she is, fifty-three, surrounded by eligible women and instead, leaning closer and closer to her adult step-sister, after a month in which: her crush (which, cringe enough without all the rest) shamed her for being a bereaved homosexual, her ex-husband’s mistress attempted to ask her out no fewer than eight times, said ex-husband _moved back in with her_ (without permission) after the mistress chucked _him_ out, and she agreed to attend this godforsaken women's disco after being relentlessly badgered about it at a bloody _wake_. 

(That Gillian happened to be sat on her lap at the time is truly, t _ruly_ the icing on the cake.) 

They’ve been here for forty-nine minutes (not that she’s counting) and not one woman has approached their table. Gillian’s too distracted with pointing at town folk and gossiping about Judith to notice. 

“Gillian,” Caroline interjects, “Do you think everyone thinks we’re a couple?” 

“Define everyone, Caz, I’m pretty sure Harry and Megan don’t know we exist-” 

“-Here, Gillian. Do you think all these… _ladies_ presume you and I are together, or am I really as pathetic as I feel?” 

“D’ya want me to be a more active wingwoman? I thought I’d let you settle in a bit, get a few drinks in, then we really put the moves on these gals-”

“No, I absolutely _don't_ want.” 

Gillian gives her that kicked puppy look, and Caroline immediately backtracks. 

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate the gesture, I’m just, well, frankly, too fucking exhausted to even want to dance. None of these women are my type, anyhow.”

“Not true! I told you that one was Raff’s teacher!” 

Against her better judgment, Caroline chortles. 

“God, I really am pathetic, huh? I mean, for all Ruth’s nastiness there was a bit too much truth in all that, wasn’t there?”

Gillian shakes her head, determinedly. 

“Hey, now, listen, Caz, I know I was a right shithead you know, way back when, but I really do think you’re brave, putting your actual heart on the line, you know? I know everyone thinks I’m a slag, but that’s only because I’m a b- bloody fuckup when it comes to actual relationships.” 

Caroline grabs her hand reassuringly. 

“All the same, I think tonight, getting through the door was enough, yeah? It’s been a hell of a week already, no need to risk the indignity of,” she gestures broadly at the undulating masses of women before them. 

“Yeah, alright, long as you’re buying the next round,” Gillian concurs. 

_

In the taxi home, curiosity gets the best of Caroline. 

“Why were you so dead-set on me going to this women’s disco anyways? And before you start, I don’t want to hear about me getting back on the horse or whatever because we both know you’re not _that_ magnanimous.” 

Gillian blushes, looking at her shoes (Converse, natch). 

“Dunno, had always wondered what it was like. Never had an excuse to go.” 

The last time her voice had been this quiet, she’d been confessing to murder. Caroline shudders away the thought. She’s had too much of a week to take on any more emotional burdens.

Better keep it light. 

“Well, what’d you think?” 

“Simultaneously fascinating and dull. You’d think it being all women, the mating rituals would be more evolved, and _yet_.” 

Caroline grimaces with the memory of accidentally stumbling upon a couple mid-act in her quest to find the loo. 

“Well, Gillian, if I’m not proof that coming out doesn’t magically solve one’s romantic woes, I’m not sure what is.” 

Gillian giggles. 

“I love how you still talk posh even when you’re pissed.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“Tell me something I don’t know, eh?” 

She waggles her brows in faux-seduction and it’s a testament to Caroline’s dry spell that she’s more than a little charmed. 

Fortunately, they’ve arrived at their destination, the driver requires compensation for putting up with the two of them, and Caroline’s sense of duty and propriety will always outweigh her desires. 

_

They’ve snuggled up on the sofa, mugs of chamomile tea in hand. Gillian’s perpetually heavy eyelids are dangerously languid. For all that Caroline mentally compares her to dogs, she’s quite feline, in this particular moment. 

(Speaking of dogs, Ruth is currently resting her chin on Gillian’s thigh. Caroline is deeply moved and superficially jealous. She really has _got_ to stop drinking.) 

“What would you do, if Ruth came around, changed her mind, said she did fancy you and all? Would you forgive her?” 

Caroline snorts. 

“I think it’s a bit too late for all that.” 

Gillian shrugs. 

“You and me ‘ave done alright, and we’ve called each other worse.” 

“And it took us, what, seven years to get here? And we’re just… friends.” 

It feels wrong the moment it comes out of her mouth, and Caroline flashes back to all the times she’s said “my friend- well, actually she’s my stepsister, but-” when attempting to explain what she and Gillian are to one another. 

“I wouldn’t call us _just_ friends, Caz, you changed a tyre in a field of shit for me.” 

“And don’t you forget it. Anyways, I can forget the things she said about me. To me. But, it wasn’t just me, it was Kate-” Her eyes wander to the photograph, her fingers twist the ring she still can’t bear to take off.

“Do you still talk to her?” 

Caroline nods. 

_Lately she’s got a lot of opinions about you, pal. But Kate’s always been a hopeless romantic- she was as starry-eyed as John when she heard about your dad and my mum._

“That’s good. I mean, she always had a good head on her shoulders, so I expect her advice is just as good as ever.”

“You mean ‘swallow my pride, quit being a twat, do the right thing?’” 

“Exactly. Always liked her. Tell ‘er I said hello next time she pops round.” 

“Hmmph. That’s the last thing I need- you two ganging up on me through the astral plane.” 

Gillian yawns, stretches, makes Caroline marvel at the wonders farming does to the human physique (she has **_got_ ** to stop drinking).

“Right, then, I’m too old for this sleep-over “stay up all night talking about dead spouses” shit. Thanks for a wonderful evening after a hellish month.” 

“Likewise. Let’s do it again sometime.” 

The devilish glint in Gillian’s eye guarantees that she’ll remember that offer, drinks be damned. 

As Gillian ascends the stairs towards the guest room, Caroline swears she hears the mellifluous sound of Kate’s laughter. 

“I’m glad _someone’s_ having fun here.” 

“What was that, Caz?”

“Nothing, good night, see you in the morning.” 

_Fucking hell._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gillian ponders, and assumptions? are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Attempting to do a back-and-forth POV on this one. Might throw in some other characters (I'm a bit of an Ellie stan tbh), we'll see what the muse says.

Gillian doesn’t know when, exactly, Caroline became her first call. Maybe it was a natural consequence of her dad marrying Celia, or the last bit of fallout of her failed marriage to Robbie. 

It still feels odd to call it a marriage. _Mistake, more like_. 

But the truth of the matter is Caroline is correct (as usual, snotty bitch)- their lives are already enmeshed, moving under the same roof would only make them more efficient. 

If her own proposal that they could each meet someone feels half-hearted, well, her track record hasn’t exactly been stellar, has it? 

No, the real sticking point isn’t _hope_ , it’s fear. 

Fear that Caroline would never be able to cope with all the things that make a farm a farm (and make a Gillian a Gillian), fear that to ask her to try would be to break something that’s become so precious it hurts her chest if she thinks on it too much. 

So, as usual, she pushes it aside, puts on a smile, eggs her on, has a genuine laugh. 

Things are good now, for all the extant shit. She’s not eager to muck them up, this time. 

_

The thing is, it used to be empowering, being a slag. 

It felt like a _fuck off_ to the ghost of Eddie, a _fuck off_ to all the folk who whispered about her in the aisles of the grocery store, the church pews- pity and condescension, with more than a little scorn. 

But now, it borders on compulsion:

1.See young, fit bloke

2.Flirt, in order to prove you’ve _still got it, baby_

3.Shag somewhere in the order of 1-3 times (long enough to get off, short enough to not get bored with the talking bits) 

4.Rinse and repeat

5.Try not to think about whom you’d rather be shagging 

She reckons it’s that last bit that’s really ruined things. 

Gillian has lived a heterosexual life, for all intents and purposes, but she’s always had this _thing_ … about unattainable, demanding, put-together women. The sort who would come through her till in their power-suits before looking down their noses at her as they handed over their cash with perfectly manicured hands, after which they would doubtlessly go home to their husbands and children, and she would go home and furiously masturbate.

(It’s not a thing she’s _proud_ of, mind you.) 

But by virtue of their unattainability, these women were never more than a fervent fantasy, a blazing hot spot in a cold, dull existence. 

Caroline is the queen of these women, the factory prototype. The first time they met Gillian didn’t know whether she wanted to smack her upside the head or ruin her lipstick. 

(Well, she _did_ know, but boy, did she hold onto that anger as long as she bloody could.) 

She’s learned enough now to know that she slept with John not out of pity, but out of _commiseration_. Although, she reckons she might have better odds than him with Caroline, these days, at least. 

Gillian shakes her head, realizing she’s had this internal monologue while the handsome bearded man is looking at her curiously, clearly expecting some sort of response. 

Today? She breaks the habit. 

“Sorry, mate, I’ve just had a lot on, you know? Maybe some other time, yeah?” 

He shrugs easily, young and entirely uninvested in whether a woman old enough to be his mother will, in fact, make good on her word. 

_

Gillian has, miraculously, convinced Caroline to come to the Hebden Women’s Disco again with her this month. 

“Only if you promise not to embarrass me with your… wing-womaning.” 

“Fine, fine, it’s your funeral.” 

(She’s never felt such magnificent relief.) 

A woman she recognizes from the last time approaches the table when Caroline’s gone to the loo- is having a small bladder a trait common to posh twats? 

“Hiya.” 

“Hi,” Gillian nods. 

(“Girl” might be more appropriate than “woman”- she’s twenty-five, at best.) 

“I saw you and your partner here before, scoping things out. Are you looking for a third?” 

“Are we- hah! Oh, we’re not- she’s not- you know what, nevermind, thank you very much, but no, that’s not what we’re looking for at this time,” Gillian manages, grateful only that Caroline wasn’t here to witness. 

The girl pouts. 

“Shame. You’re both my type. Would’ve been a lot of fun.” 

Gillian’s not inclined to disagree, truth be told, but if there’s one thing she knows about Caroline, it’s that millennial menages a trois are not high on her to-do list. 

“What was that all about,” Caroline whispers into the back of her neck, and honestly she’s either entirely oblivious to the goosebumps her presence elicits, or just deliberately cruel (which doesn’t help matters at _all_.) 

“Oh, you know, just a hot young thing wanting to join two old broads for a threesome, typical night out, I’d say.” 

“You’re joking!” 

“God, I wish I were that inventive, Caz, sorry to disappoint, but the truth is stranger than fiction once again.” 

“Did you bother to clarify that we’re not together?” 

“Seemed less important than making sure that we didn’t get such requests all night.” 

“Can’t argue with that.” 

Caroline sits down again, taking a long swallow of her drink, making Gillian’s throat uncomfortably dry in the process. 

“Next month, let’s just get pissed at mine instead. My back hurts for days after standing around all evening waiting at the bar, and god knows I’m not going to meet my soulmate in any room this loud.”

“Maybe you can join a lesbian book club or something, really get into some intellectual discussions, talk about the good old uni days or whatever.” 

“And we’ll sign you up for Farmers Only, darling. Sounds like a plan.” 

_

“Do you think John is so awful he turns women gay, or does he just have a knack for picking you lot out?” 

Gillian is stretched out on her customary side of the sofa, Ruth drooling on her calves, tonight. 

“The numbers certainly aren’t in his favour, are they? Though, I suppose you’re the exception.” 

“Well, it was just the once, so he only moved my Kinsey needle a couple notches to the right. If I hadn’t nipped it in the bud… who knows how queer I might’ve become.” 

“Womankind’s loss, surely,” Caroline rolls her eyes, before they narrow, backtracking to what she’d said. “Are you telling me that for all the times you’ve called me a dyke, you fancy a bit of skirt?” 

She sits up, towering over Gillian, in all her magnificent amazonian glory. 

“Well, only in the intellectual sense, I suppose. If we’re splitting hairs.” 

Caroline raises a brow, Gillian trembles in her seat, Ruth yawns dramatically. 

“And you so vociferously protest anyone’s assumption that you might be a lesbian- although your wardrobe certainly doesn’t signal anything otherwise- because god forbid you confront a physical relationship with anyone who has a thought in their head besides getting their dick wet?” 

(Somewhere along the way, Caroline’s idle curiosity has transformed into an interrogation. Gillian is not in a position to complain about this development.) 

  
  


“Well, yeah, that’s kind of exactly it.” 

Caroline sighs, flopping gracelessly back on the sofa, the tension of the previous moment now entirely evaporated. The pounding in Gillian’s ears has now subsided enough for her to hear Caroline speak.

“I get it. If I felt the slightest attraction to men, I think I might give it another try- not with John, of course. Women are maddening.” 

_Right, as always, Caz. Right, as always._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks everyone for your lovely comments! it's honestly been such a lovely welcome in this time of leaving-my-house-as-infrequently-as-possible. may you all be happy, safe, and filled with love <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellie sees all, Ellie knows all, Ellie is tired of this shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, Ellie was full-on winking when Gillian said she was taking Caz to the women's disco SHE KNOWS WHAT'S UP.

Ellie can’t _wait_ to go back to work. She never thought she’d be saying that, but then again, she’d also thought this maternity leave would be filled with watching soaps and bonding with little Harry Alan (who’s quickly earned the nickname “Hairy Al,” because marrying Raff means being stuck with these nutters for the rest of her life). Instead, the TV’s out, the baby is primarily sleeping (which is a blessing, don’t get her wrong) and she’s home all day dealing with Gillian’s _sulking_. 

See, either Ellie’s absolutely _mad_ , or everyone around her is in denial, because she could have sworn that Gillian and Caroline were finally going out on a proper date. Which is _long_ overdue, but that’s besides the point. The point is that Gillian and Caroline ostensibly went out last month, and yet now Gillian is moping about, too bloody similar to Raff as a teen, and driving Ellie up the wall. 

“Are you not going to Caroline’s this weekend?

Gillian looks up from her shuffling about, confused for a moment.

“Oh, no, she’s got a date.”

“All your wingwomaning finally pay off?” 

She scowls. 

“No, apparently her secretary really went all out with letting everyone at her school know she’s a lezzer. The librarian insisted upon setting her up with her sister. And, you know, I’ve got plenty to do on farm, so, no skin off of my back if she’s got something else to do on weekends for a while.”

Ellie hums her understanding. 

“Did you tell her you were upset about her going out with someone else?” 

Gillian scoffs.

“Why in the world would I be upset? Have you got, like post-partum or something?”

Ellie shrugs. 

“Dunno, just thought you two were… closer these days. It’s been nice to see, you know, like, you deserve a proper friend after everything with Robbie and Cheryl and all.” 

Gillian looks at her warily.

“That’s surprisingly nice coming from you, kid. You’ve come a long way from the layabout teen mum I once knew, eh?” 

Ellie’s about to use this little heart-to-heart to a) really dig into the Caroline thing and b) tell Gillian that as lovely as this has all been, she and Raff will be moving out at the earliest opportunity, but the baby wakes from his nap with a cry that signals it will be a long time until adult conversation can resume. 

_

“Does your mum _know_ that she’s in love with Caroline, or is she so far in denial that she’s making the rest of us miserable unintentionally?”

Raff nearly slams into the car in front of them. 

“You’ve really lost it, Ellie. First you accuse my mom of- of _murdering_ my father, and now you think she’s got the hots for her _stepsister_? I mean, since when is she a lesbian? It’s not like she makes any secret of who she sleeps with, much to my eternal torment.” 

“No, I swear I can make my case. Okay, just listen- so, like, for the first four years we lived together I was scared shitless of Gillian, right? Now, think about it: who is the only person she’s even remotely deferential to, besides your granddad? She’s like… fucking _demure_ around Caroline. It’s _weird!_ ”

“She called her a snotty bitch the first time they met I’d hardly call that demure.” 

“Yeah, when they first met, before she had the chance to fall in _love_ with her.” 

“It’s just the head teacher thing, honestly, El, you’ve spent too much time with an infant and not enough time amongst adults, it’s turned your brain to mush.” 

“And you’re surrounded by teenage twats all day and I’m not calling you a fuckwad, am I?” 

“I think you just did.” 

“ _Back to my point._ Who does Gillian call, anytime something’s gone wrong? Caroline. Who is she always texting sheep memes to? Caroline. I swear the only reason she still helps with Calamity as much as she does is because it’s an excuse for them to spend even _more_ time together.” 

Raff’s eyes bug out a bit, and Ellie knows she’s won this one. Can’t argue with the facts. 

“Okay, but like, even if she does maybe… fancy Caroline a bit, they’re like, related! That’s too bloody weird for me to think about.” 

“How is it any weirder than her marrying your Uncle Robbie?” 

“Well, seeing as he fled the country in the aftermath I’m not sure that’s a good comparison-” 

“I’m just saying, they’ve already basically got a domestic partnership thing going, the only difference would be your mum won’t be pining about the house oozing sexual frustration-”

“-And, you’ve crossed the line.” Raff grimaces. “We really need to find our own place.” 

“I love when you admit I’m right,” Ellie grins. 

_

Gillian puts up a bit of a fuss when they inform her they’re moving twenty minutes away, to a three-bedroom that’s much closer to Emily’s school (“You know I don’t mind having you here” “Well, who’s going to drive Calamity to school?” “Can Flora still have sleepovers?”), but she relents quicker than Ellie would have guessed (maybe she’s looking forward to a little more elbow room too, wink-wink). 

She hugs Raff like he’s going off to war, even though they’ll all be back here for dinner come tomorrow, and wipes away a few stray tears from the corner of her eye. Ellie stands back beside her as Raff loads up the last of the heavy bits, feeling for the first time like she and Gillian are peers. 

“I know he’s been grown for a while, I mean, Jesus, you’ve got two kids now, but it’s still hard to see him leave home. He’s still that sweet little boy who told me he wanted to grow up to be an astronaut-pirate, you know?”

Ellie nods, thinking about the day when her rascal of a daughter may in fact, come to resemble a dignified adult. It’s already heartbreaking, and she’s got at least a dozen years to prepare. 

“You should take advantage of the empty nest. Do something that makes you happy. Have like, a re-housewarming with Caroline, or something.”

Gillian gives her a funny little look, like she’s both desperate to share a secret and that she’s locked her heart and swallowed the key. 

Well, if she’s got at least 24 hours’ respite from Gillian’s wrath, Ellie can afford to be a bit reckless. 

“She fancies you too, for what it’s worth. It feels like I’m the only one who notices how moony-eyed you are for each other, but I swear to god she lights up whenever you come through the door. I mean, I love Raff, and there are many moments when he does look genuinely happy to see me, but she absolutely _beams_ every single time.” 

Gillian nods, silently (trembling the whole time), and pulls Ellie into a quick, rib-crushing hug. 

Raff blares the horn to tell her to hurry-the-hell-up and they’re off, into the great unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> luv u mean it


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bob Dylan's words belong to Bob Dylan (though he ripped off most of his melodies, let's be real).

In the early days of their courtship, John used to subject Caroline to the discography of Bob Dylan, while he provided an in-depth analysis of the artistic brilliance, actually, of singing like a half-dead donkey. This was, granted, well before Dylan won the Nobel Prize in literature and became John’s sworn enemy, because surely he was the only obstacle standing in the way of John himself winning.

Despite her less than positive connotations of one Robert Zimmerman, (Kate argued that one should only ever listen to women singing his songs; she, as in most things, was correct), Caroline finds that a particular verse always comes to mind when she’s spent time with Gillian in one of her more tumultuous states: 

_“People tell me it's a sin_

_To know and feel too much within_

_I still believe she was my twin_

_But I lost the ring_

_She was born in spring_

_But I was born too late_

_Blame it on a simple twist of fate”_

Of course, she and Gillian _share_ a spring birthday (bull-headed Tauruses, through-and-through), and if anything, Gillian was born too soon, given how Caroline’s paramours have skewed younger over the past decade, but there’s always been something... predestined about their relationship, all the twists and turns that have led them to their present closeness. 

How could she ever have guessed that a rude woman who stole her parking spot would ever become her lifeline? 

She picks up her phone and fires off a quick text to Gillian.

**Thoughts on Bob Dylan?**

_anyone who would cheat on suze rotolo w/ joan baez is a knob. don’t tell me ur new gf is a folk singer *barf emoji*_

Caroline rolls her eyes. She’d spent the entirety of her date with Joanne (a perfectly lovely financial something-or-other whom she thinks she might have gone on to date for at least three months under other circumstances) thinking about Gillian: what was she up to, how was she coping with Raff and Ellie moving out, what kind of wine she should bring over for dinner next week. But she can’t have Gillian knowing _all_ of that, just yet. Caroline is not the type to readily lay all her cards on the table.

**A)She’s not my girlfriend B) I respect and value your opinion on all things, naturally.**

_twat_

**Barbarian.**

_could probably do a rousing drunk rendition of “lay lady, lay” the next time you’re round, if you’re into that sort of thing ;)_

(God, is she ever. Fucking pathetic.) 

**There are easier ways to torture me, I’m sure you could think of plenty. But, Flora is with Greg this weekend- shall we have a celebration of the empty nest?**

_only if u bring the booze, babe_

**Scotch or Brandy?**

_yes_

**I’ll see you Friday at 8, then.**

_ 

For all that time moves ever on, some things refuse to change. John is still in the guest room- Caroline has half a mind to bring someone home to have loud sex in the living room, if that’s what it takes to get him to leave, but she’s never had the exhibitionist streak that he and Judith did.

Speaking of, Judith refuses to accept “No, thank you, I promise I’m not nearly as lovely as you’ve imagined me to be in your head and also you’ve never once interacted with me sober,” as an answer, and continues to call her at least once a week. 

In a way, Caroline admires their dogged determination to fight for the impossible- or she would, if it weren’t constantly complicating her own life. 

“Dad still wants to get back with you,” Lawrence mutters, as she cleans the kitchen (John still thinks “cooking” is a way to win his way into her heart, ignoring the fact that “making a mess” is atop the list of her cardinal sins). 

“Your father is delusional, and I have half a mind to sell this house from under him if he refuses to leave.” 

Lawrence shrugs, apathetic as usual. 

“He’s not going with me and Angus.” 

(Thank god at least one of the man-children is taking some initiative in being an actual adult.) 

“No, he’s not, but I don’t believe I owe him anything, especially now that you’re grown. Do you?” 

“I mean he’s my dad…”

“Yes, he’s _your_ dad, he’s not _my_ husband, and he hasn’t been for a very long time.” 

John, with his horribly impeccable timing, takes this opportunity to poke his head round the corner from the study. 

“Did you say you were going to Gillian’s, Caroline?”

“You’re not invited," she glares. "In fact, it would be lovely if you could take the weekend to move your things out and, you know, find your own place.” 

He grimaces. 

“It’s not that easy. I can’t just- besides, I thought we were really going to give it a shot this time-” 

“-honest-to-god, I would rather date _Judith_ , at this point.”

Caroline sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“Right, I’m going, if you’re still here tomorrow evening then I will make your life a living hell.” 

_

“Let’s fuck with him, _really_ do his head in.” 

Gillian is three sheets to the wind, and looking for a fight. Caroline wants to kiss the insides of her wrists. 

“What are you proposing, hm?” 

“We could catfish him! Or, pretend to be a literary agent that wants to buy his shit book! Or…” 

Oh, no. Gillian and pregnant pauses are never good. Especially when her eyes get all glassy and dreamy.

“Whatever it is, I’m saying no.” 

“Fine, your loss. But know that if things get desperate, I’ve got your back, mate.”

Caroline shrugs, too fuzzy-brained to protest any of Gillian’s schemes, more hopeful that she’ll just forget about it in the morning. 

“Right, back to you. Still wanting to tear down the barn?” 

Gillian nods, and goes into a monologue about vanquishing Eddie’s ghost once and for all, and about how she’ll use a wood with anti-supernatural properties this time, use a patch of unstained ground, it’s a new start, 53 is the new 35, etc. 

Caroline smiles, charmed and drunk and fully relaxing for the first time in two weeks. 

“What?” Gillian stops, suspicious, all of a sudden. 

“I’m happy. Is that a crime?” 

“Seeing as I’m balancing the relative merits of beech versus oak wood, I’d say your mental state might be questionable.” 

Caroline yawns, too tired to care about insults. 

“I like hearing you talk. I find it remarkably soothing. Especially seeing as most of what I hear on a day to day basis is synopses of Peppa Pig’s latest shenanigans.” 

“Well that’s- that’s very kind of you, I suppose.” 

“You’re cute when you blush.” 

“You’ve gone barmy.” 

“No, no, just… I dunno.” Caroline waves her hand, losing entirely the train of her thought. 

“You know,” Gillian muses, looking up at the ceiling, “the only time the bloody television isn’t on in this house is when you’re here. Even Robbie couldn’t stand to just be alone with me. Why is that?” 

“We’re not afraid to be alone with our thoughts, so we can be alone with each other… I think.” 

“More like, we’ve been forced to be alone with our darkest thoughts, so we can tolerate each other’s nonsense,” Gillian scoffs. 

Caroline is probably too tipsy to engage in philosophical quandaries, but she feels safe enough to pose a thought she hasn’t spoken aloud. 

“I keep thinking, about how… impossible it feels to try to have a relationship with anyone who didn’t know Kate, who didn’t… understand who she was… to me.” 

Gillian puts a warm, reassuring hand on her forearm, and the world stops spinning. 

“Listen, Ruth is a nutter- don’t let her swear you off of all and sundry.” 

Caroline sits up, and suddenly everything is clear. 

“You knew her, though. You knew how much I loved her.” 

Gillian looks down, guilty, and memories of ill-advised text messages and notable absences and her useless bloody ex-husband all flood back and Caroline’s dizzy once again. 

“I should lie down.” 

“You can sleep in Raff’s room, no need to take the couch any more.” 

“Oh, but you spoil me.” 

The smile is in her words but it falls far short of her eyes. 

_

Caroline dreams of Kate, who’s sitting in what appears to be a therapist’s office. 

“Why don’t you come see me when I’m awake anymore? I miss you.” 

Kate smiles, sadly. 

“It takes too much energy now, I have to conserve it for Flora.” 

“Why are you here, then?” 

“I think you know why.”

“Gillian.” 

Caroline’s face darkens. 

“You’ve always been too hard on her where I’m concerned.” 

“She skipped our wedding, Kate, and instead got belligerently pissed with John. I thought I was over it, but _clearly_ , I’m not.” 

Kate gives her that “ _think of the obvious, you emotionally illiterate robot,_ ” look. 

“Would you have gone to the wedding if I were marrying Gillian?” 

“I’m not a bloody masochist, no, why would you ask-” 

Kate nods. 

“Oh, shit. Oh, _shit, shit_. You’re saying, _even then_?” 

“I’m not sure Gillian was self-aware enough at the time to realize, but don’t think I didn’t notice all that tension between you two.” 

“Surely you don’t think that I’d ever-” 

Kate moves to sit next to her on the couch, and Caroline can almost feel her body heat, like a sorely needed flame. 

“No, of course not. But she’s still there, and I’m not, and it’s entirely unfair, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to be happy. And at least she's so wildly different from me that I won't be tortured by any comparison.”

Caroline laughs, feeling tears pinprick at the corners of her eyes. 

“If I’d died and you took up with Gillian I’d haunt the ever-loving shit out of you.” 

Kate grins, somehow both smug and magnanimous. 

“I always was more evolved in the arena of navigating complex relationships.” 

“I miss you.” 

(Even in her dreams, it comes out as a sob.)

“I know.” 

“I don’t want to forget you.” 

“She won’t let you.” 

Kate moves to hold her, and Caroline pushes her tear-soaked face into her shoulder, and much sooner than she’d like the sun has risen and Kate is gone, her warmth replaced by a scratchy pillow, crushed tightly in Caroline's embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the Daily Mail from s5 on the day before G & C's birthday reads Thursday, May 14th, 2020 ergo their birthday is May 15th, and in Sally Wainwright's near future covid-19 is not a concern. I can never follow the timeline of this show, but I think I'm reasonably correct on this point. Fight me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Judith, snogging, and self-doubt. It's all here, folks!!

Gillian atones for the remembrance of her past sins by making a proper breakfast, and what just may be the world’s strongest coffee. 

“Listen, you’ve got to be hangover free if you’re wanting to throw John out. You’re too susceptible to his pathos if you’ve got a hint of weakness about you.” 

“I just don’t even know what I’d say at this point. I suppose I really could take legal action, I certainly have the financial advantage, but that just seems unfair to Lawrence…” 

“If he’s still there, you ring me, I’ll sort it.” 

“You’re not going to… hurt him, are you?” 

Gillian snorts. 

“Just his gigantic, fragile male ego. I’ll embarrass him so thoroughly he’ll be afraid to come near you again.” 

“That sounds rather entertaining, actually. But you _have_ met John, haven’t you? I think he doesn’t actually possess the physical capability of mortification, to my ever-present chagrin.” 

“Oh, ye of little faith,” Gillian tsks, around a mouthful of potatoes. “I could destroy that man in _seconds_.” 

Caroline’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t protest anymore. Gillian’s only a little surprised when she gets a call a few hours later. 

“His car’s in the drive. I haven’t gone in yet but-” 

“I’ll be there in half an hour.” 

“Gillian it takes nearly forty-five minutes to get from yours to mine” 

“- _Half an hour_.” 

_ 

Usually, Gillian makes an effort when she knows she’s going to see Caroline. It’s pretty much only time she willingly dons a dress, which in retrospect, explains more than a few of her and Robbie’s problems. But today? Today, she’s leaning into _vaguely-threatening-owns-a-gun-and-knows-how-to-use-it_ sheep-farmer chic. Not that she’s _bringing_ the shotgun, mind you, but John doesn’t need to know that. 

Thanks to the Landy’s off-road capabilities and her own lead foot, she’s true to her word. There’s an extra car in the drive, in addition to Caroline’s and John’s, and due to the fact it makes Caz’s look like an old rubbish trade-in, Gillian can only presume that Judith has decided to join the party. 

_Will wonders never cease?_

She doesn’t bother to ring the doorbell- the din coming from inside the house suggests no one would answer, anyhow, and if she’s going to pull this off, she needs to look like this is her rightful space to stake a claim. 

(It's possible that plan _convince-John-and-Judith-that-you're-shagging-Caroline-and-therefore-she's-unavailable-to-either-of-them_ is a bit of a foolhardy one.)

“-I don’t want either of you here, why is that so hard to understand!” 

Caroline’s rage instantly tempers when she sees Gillian, and that’s enough to spur her on in whatever the hell it is she thinks she’s doing. 

“Oh, hello. I didn’t expect you here so quickly.” 

Gillian puts her hands in her pockets, affecting nonchalance. 

“There’s more wants doing at farm but it can wait. Clearly this,” she gestures at John and Judith, who both appear more than a little confused (she hopes they’re not already pissed), “ is more important.” 

“I’m not sure this is any of your business,” John huffs, “This is between me and my wife.” 

“Oh, but it _is_ my business,” Gillian smirks, sidling near Caroline, slow enough to give her room to back out, but she’s just met with a subtle reassuring nod. “And she’s not your f- bloody wife.” 

John’s frown deepens as Gillian slides an arm protectively around Caroline’s waist, but while he looks as confused as ever, Judith’s face lights up in recognition. 

“You two?! But, Caroline, she’s- she’s got nothing to offer you- I could give you the _world_ -” 

“I don’t want your money, Judith,” Caroline sighs, clearly exhausted at having belabored this point since her arrival, “ and you’ve demonstrated terribly bad boundaries by showing up at my house unannounced.” 

“And Gillian hasn’t?” John is fuming, now, having been betrayed by seemingly every woman in his life. 

“The difference is, John, I _like_ Gillian. She’s _welcome_ here. _She’s_ not a parasite.”

“Oh, I love it when you sweet talk, Caz.” 

“I don’t believe you two are- Gillian’s not- for god’s sakes _we_ slept together, Gillian!” 

Gillian rolls her eyes. 

“What do you think made me consider lesbianism in the first place?” 

Judith nods, enthusiastically. 

“It’s like- he’s infuriating enough to make you swear off men entirely- or drive you to drink…” 

“You know what- I am not the cause of everyone’s problems-” 

Caroline steps forward, silencing them all with her g _ravitas_. 

“You’re not the cause of everyone’s problems, John, you _are_ the problem. Leave, now, or I’ll be forced to call the police. “

Judith starts clapping, oblivious to Caroline’s scorn.

“That goes for you, too, Judith. You’re both trespassing, and whilst I don’t relish the thought of forcing you out, if you won’t listen to sense, then that’s what I’ll have to do. I hope for your sake you leave before the press get wind of this- I can’t imagine it would help book sales.” 

John starts gathering his things, before fixing Caroline with a cold, hateful stare, and Gillian feels a compulsion to absolutely _obliterate_ this tiny, tiny man. 

“Prove it. That you and Gillian are- “ 

“I don’t have to prove anything to you, John. You are _nothing_ to me.” 

But Gillian is too angry to think now, and she knows giving John exactly what he asked for will punish him more than even Caroline’s most cutting words. 

“It’s alright, Caz. Yeah?” She looks up into her eyes, waiting for permission, before placing her rough hand on Caroline’s baby-soft cheek. 

Caroline melts into the touch, and as soon as Gillian’s lips are on hers, she grabs her jacket, twisting the fabric tightly and pulling Gillian closer. 

At some point (time has lost all meaning- who can say _when_ ), her hands are in Gillian’s hair and her tongue is in Gillian’s mouth, and it’s kind of hilarious that Gillian ever thought she would have the upper hand in this situation. 

When they part, Gillian’s whole body is tingling, John is _gone_ , and Judith is smiling through tears. 

“Wow. Just, _wow_.” 

“Judith, _why_ are you still here?” 

(It’s _remarkable_ how quickly Caroline can transition from full-on-snogging to stern.) 

“You know what, Caroline, _I get it now_ . I want what you two have- _that_ is love. That is what great novels are written about! I’m putting you two in my next book, absolutely.” 

“Not if you don’t want a cease and desist and a long lawsuit, you’re not.” 

“Have you considered trying Tinder, Judith? I think you’d have a lot of luck there. Or Raya, if you want that exclusive celebrity life! Love is out there waiting for you.” 

(Never would Gillian have thought she’d be the diplomat in this situation, but stranger things have happened. Namely, the past ten minutes.) 

“And I’m going to go find it!” 

Judith totters off, and Gillian turns to really, properly look at Caroline, who up until now has been a supporting character in the narrative of her own fucking life. 

“Listen, Caz, I’m sorry about all that- I should have been more clear- I just didn’t know how else to make him-” 

“I want to know-” 

“Yes?” 

Caroline must settle some sort of internal debate, as her dazed expression quickly narrows to predatory.

“I want to know,” she runs a lazy finger down the side of Gilian’s neck, goosebumps rising in her wake, “if you’re a better kisser without an audience.” 

And, well, Gillian’s always preferred the “show, don’t tell” method.

_ 

Gillian is perched on Caroline’s kitchen island, jacket strewn across the dining room table, flannel half open, Caroline’s hand jammed down the front of her jeans. 

“You don’t think John will go telling everyone,” she muses, between trying to keep her eyes from rolling back in her head when Caroline nips at her jaw. 

“He’s too mortified, I'd think. Why? Are you afraid all your boy-toys will think you’re a ‘ _l_ _ezzer?’_ ”

(She punctuates this with a twist of her wrist that makes Gillian’s toes curl.) 

“N-no, just didn’t want to give your mum a st-stroke.” 

Caroline begins to give what is surely a blisteringly witty retort, but they’re interrupted by the sound of wheels in the drive.

“I swear to god, if that’s John or Judith I’ll wring their necks myself- oh, shit, that’s Greg’s car!” 

Caroline quickly moves to wash her hands, while Gillian attempts to retrieve all her clothing without looking like too much of a slag. 

Flora runs into the foyer just as Gillian’s donning her jacket, excitedly babbling about her weekend at Greg’s. He gives Caroline a sheepish look. 

“You weren’t meant to be back for two hours?” 

“I know- I’m so sorry, but Flora wanted a toy she’d left here, and I’m meeting someone for dinner in Halifax and- I did text you-” 

“Right, whatever, thanks, see you in two weeks.” 

Caroline sends him off unceremoniously, before turning her attention to Flora, while Gillian stands back, wondering if she should just slip out now, or what. 

“Mummy’s just making dinner, and then I can’t wait to hear all about your weekend, darling. Can you sit with Aunt Gillian while I finish up?” 

_Well, that’s one question answered, then._

Flora drags Gillian to the living room, demanding “Mommy Kate Stories,” and Gillian begins recounting the oft-repeated legend of how Kate played the piano so beautifully at Grandma and Granddad’s wedding, that Caroline got over being a twat and they got married. (She leaves out the part where Aunt Gillian skipped the wedding due to internalized homophobia and jealousy- it’s a lot to ask of a 5 year old to unpack.) 

As she’s telling the story, she realizes- none of this, this fancy house, or this cozy quiet domesticity, or this peace and tranquility, is _hers_. She doesn’t bloody _belong_ here. 

Caroline invites her to join them for dinner, but her politeness feels like pity, and Gillian’s brain keeps screaming “ _you don’t want me here, you couldn’t possibly want me here_ ”, and she begs off, with excuses about sheep to feed and washing to do, and spent too much time out here already, while Caroline just frowns her gorgeous, dignified frown, and Gillian would like very much to crawl out of her own skin just now. 

Instead, she goes home, shuts off her mobile, sits in the darkness, and drinks til she passes out on the couch. 

As she falls into a restless sleep, she hears Eddie laughing at her stupid, stupid hope. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can never keep track of where Caroline's moved to, so any geographical references are probably bunk. Time is fake, anyway!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Gillian runs away and Caroline tracks her down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen, we're living in a pandemic and my brain is lowkey broken but i'm trying my best thanks

Caroline texts Gillian, first: 

_Thank you for saving me from John and Judith today- not all heroes wear capes (sometimes they wear waxed canvas!)_

Quickly followed by: 

_(I hope Flora’s premature return didn’t spook you too much. Today turned out so very different, but better, than I’d ever anticipated.)_

When she wakes the next morning to nary an emoji, she rings Gillian as she makes coffee, and gets chucked straight to voicemail: 

“Hiya Gillian, it’s Caroline. I hope you’re feeling alright- ring me when you get a minute, will you?” 

The thought that Gillian is ignoring her occurs, naturally, but Flora proves distracting enough not to dwell too much on that side of things, then there’s her weekly chat with William, and Lawrence wants to borrow her car for its carrying capacity (after politely informing her that “dad’s called you a mad bitch four times today- what did he do?”) so, after sorting all that out, her panic level is only at about a quarter of what it _could_ be, in the end. 

There are a few distinct possibilities: 

  1. Gillian is actually 100% heterosexual and is so offended by their… dalliance that she’s shutting Caroline out. Unlikely, given the frequency with which she ogles Caroline’s ass. But some sort of identity crisis is not entirely out of the question. 
  2. Gillian’s lost her phone in a feeding trough or mud puddle or laundry pile. This has, in fact, happened before. 
  3. Gillian has gone on a bender of self-loathing and has managed to convince herself that she is worthless, unlovable, and a burden on everyone she loves. This, has also, unfortunately happened before. 



The only way to know for sure is whether she gets the run-around tomorrow morning when she takes Flora to school. 

One more text into the void won’t hurt: 

_I hope everything’s okay. I’m always here if you need to talk._

Caroline’s not sure whether to feel more worried or annoyed. 

Well, she _does_ feel more worried- her moral compass is not yet completely fucked. But she’s also dealing with having the glimmer of hope of a halfway-decent sexual encounter being cruelly snatched away. At this point, she would have been more than thrilled to have one well-written sext. 

In the event that this all resolves happily, with Gillian’s psyche (and mobile) intact, Caroline is going to fuck her into next week. She puts a pin in that thought, though- needs must. 

_

It’s a harried Raff that pulls in behind her to drop Calamity off at school. 

“Where’s Gillian?” 

“She’s working on barn- wouldn’t leave it for anything all weekend. She didn’t say owt to you?” 

Caroline shakes her head and waves at Calamity, who promptly disregards her in favour of joining her friends. Mention of the barn never bodes well for anyone. 

“Something must have lit a fire under her, I suppose. She’s been talking about how she wants to tear it down, but I assumed she’d have help for that.” 

“For the rebuild, yeah, but it’s easier to destroy than to build up. And you know her, wants to do all by herself.” 

“This is so last minute, and I will absolutely make it up to you the next time you and Ellie need a night out, but could Flora come home with Calamity today?” 

Raff nods slowly, judging that this request is connected to Gillian. 

“Yeah, better you than me trying to deal with her, sure. And actually, it’s me and El’s anniversary next month, so I’ll text you about that?” 

He’s clearly in a hurry (and she should be too), so she waves him off with a promise to text back and a boatload of gratitude. 

_

Caroline considers giving Gillian a warning that she's en route but Gillian surely expects this possibility and she’s certainly not going to give her an easy out. She’d considered being patient- giving Gillian a week to do whatever it is she needs to reach equilibrium, _then_ breaking down her front door- but the addition of the barn in the equation means that waiting is not an option. 

As she gets closer to the farm, smoke wafts through the air, and Caroline’s heart pounds, as she fears seeing the worst when she rounds the corner. 

Instead, she sees a tidy burnpile of old wood, next to a mound of rubble, and Gillian, arms crossed, focus intent. It’s still light out, the sun overpowering the flames in the weight of its shadow. A few hours later, and this all might look more sinister, but for now, the tableaux before her is merely a woman at work. 

Caroline relaxes her vice grip on the steering wheel, taking a moment to compose herself. Gillian looks up briefly at her, her shoulders slumping ever-so-slightly in resignation. 

Caroline approaches slowly, thinking of how she and William had moved towards the stray cat who’d eventually become a steadfast companion. Even now, every move with Gillian is a risk of losing hard-won trust. 

They stand in parallel, looking at the fire (and decidedly not at one another).

  
  
  


“I’m not going to demand you pour your heart out, or explain yourself, but I’m also not going anywhere.” 

Gillian’s lack of response might imply that her voice wasn’t heard above the crackles and hisses, but her arms drop to her sides, thumbs hook into the pockets of her jacket, and Caroline shifts her feet a few inches to the right. 

“What’s Eddie done now?” 

“He-” she scuffs her shoe into the dirt, a bull gearing up for a fight (which was only ever self-defense, but the crowd never cared, did it?) “He got in my head for the last time is what he did.” 

“Good riddance to bad rubbish.” 

Gillian really looks at her- for the first time since they kissed, Caroline realizes. (In hindsight, Caroline should have seen Gillian’s avoidance of eye contact for the flight response it was- not reserve.) 

“It’s a bad idea, you being here.” 

Gillian always likes to poke fun at Caroline’s intellectual babble (particularly where it pertains to educational policy), but Caroline has never known anyone to live so much inside their own head. 

“I get the feeling you’ve had many many conversations with me already, and you’ve come to some sort of conclusion on what this is, or should be, and my input is no longer necessary, is that right?” 

“If our parents hadn’t gotten married, you and I would never have met, Caz. We’re too bloody different. Or if we had, we would never had had anything… significant.”

“I would argue that what we have is already very significant.” 

It takes more work than she would like to keep the anger out of her voice. But for Gillian, she can manage a moment of gentleness. For Gillian, she can manage many things, including smelling of smoke for the next two days. Standing for hours isn’t one of them. They move to the wall, where the whole of the countryside is visible. 

Where she already has more memories than the house in which she now lives. 

“I shouldn’t have kissed you- it was selfish. Mad. Impulsive.” 

Caroline sits on her hands. 

“The only reason you shouldn’t have kissed me was if you didn’t want to. I think I’ve made it clear that I was more than fine with it.” 

“I don’t know what you could see in me. I’m nothing like Kate. I’d only remind you of that difference, Caz.” 

“Well, speaking of mad, Kate gave her blessing to me in a dream, so…” 

Gillian can’t stifle the laugh that escapes, and Caroline feels a geyser of hope in her chest. 

“She’s very wise, Kate is. And I swear, the other week when Flora couldn’t find her stuffed hippo, she helped me find him. She’s a powerful being, so I wouldn’t cross her by presuming to know what I do or do not want or need.” 

“I need to hear you say it, Caroline. What it is that you want.”

And oh, what a list that is. She contemplates for a moment, where to begin. But if Gillian is knocking down walls and smoking out ghosts she can break herself open, too. 

“Energy can be neither created, nor destroyed, merely transformed.”

(She interrupts Gillian’s scoff with a classroom-forged glare- for someone who waxes poetic on cinematic metaphor she’s being an impatient twat.) 

“The chemical reaction of combustion releases heat- we perceive it, perhaps, as the creation of energy, but it was all in existence before the first spark, in the closed system of our universe. Kate and I used to talk about- well, argue more, about whether love was a form of energy, and well, I think she’s got the last laugh on this one, what with the ghost shit, but my point is, Gillian, that I love you, and whether that love is platonic, or romantic, or completely unrequited and on its own in the universe, you are loved. And I want you to know that.” 

Gillian exhales, long and slow. 

“Really thought you were just gonna try and get back in my pants.”

“I figured that wouldn’t be effective in combating whatever it is you’ve convinced yourself of.” 

“Hate’s energy too, if this McKenzie-Dawson universe is to be believed.” 

“I think it can be neutralized.” 

Gillian smirks. 

“He’d pitch a fucking fit if he saw us together. Toxic masculinity in spades, had Eddie.” 

It’s twilight now, and Caroline wonders why she spent her summers without fires in the country, why she spent so much of her life indoors. But then again, her life had never had Gillian’s sharp profile in it before. The firelight would have been a waste. 

Just as Caroline knows Gillian has loved her for years now, she knows she won’t say so. And she feels a peace about that that fits right along the unexpected comfort of her in her life. Gillian’s assumptions would have been right at one time- this farm too shoddy, this woman too uncouth, this potential-relationship too messy, and yet, she’s not bothered in the slightest. 

Life’s short, people die, love them if you can while they’re around. 

“What would really fuck him up just as much as he’s fucked with you?” 

(Revenge is very high on Gillian’s list of love languages.) 

Gillian throws another bit of wood on the fire and pulls her in for a slow, thorough kiss. 

The flame jumps and whines and Caroline can’t tell if the chills she gets are physiological or supernatural, but she’s quite certain Eddie’s got the fucking message.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh i could end this here and make it short and open ended but i might throw in a couple more chapters for other characters' pov and ya know, hijinks and shenanigans


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gillian and Caroline go on a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in a better world, i'd write sometime other than past midnight, but 2020 is a hellscape!! all errors all mine.

It is a common misconception that Gillian is careless or haphazard. 

Self-destructive? Sure.

Impulsive? Beyond the shadow of a doubt. 

But she always knows _what_ she does, even if her actions prove regrettable (no need for divine forgiveness, thanks).

For example, she’s well aware Caroline is in her weekly staff meeting when she texts: 

_you know what i’d love? to be under your desk, between your legs, while that twat Ruth yammers on and on about all and sundry…_

And she remembers that Caroline’s driving Celia on her weekly errands when she sends:

_what if we went back to that posh hotel where they thought we were together and i tied you to the headboard and whispered filthy, filthy things in your ears? consider it, yeah?_

Pushing Caroline’s buttons has long been one of her favourite pasttimes, and this new method is exponentially more efficient in drawing out that magnificent breathy frustration than giving Flora biscuits before dinner or calling Celia a feckless hag-half the time Caz agrees with her on that count, so it’s hardly worth the risk.. 

(If she thinks too much about how Caroline flat-out told her she _loves_ her, she will have a panic attack and probably forget to close the gate, and then Cheryl will be Cheryl and one of these days Gillian _will_ get locked up for assaulting a police officer, and well, it’s safer for everyone right now if she just distracts herself from the wait of seeing her again with good old-fashioned sexts. Although, the effort required to entice a woman of Caroline’s caliber is decidedly higher than her previous shag buddies. Growth _is_ possible, even in one’s fifties!) 

Course, one of Caroline’s more admirable traits is her ability to rise to any occasion, so Gillian quickly loses the upper hand. She’s on baby-rocking duty when the first volley of return fire comes: 

**_It’s almost sweet how you think you could muster the coordination to top me, much less string together a coherent sentence, after I’m through with you. Were you under the impression I’m_ ** **less** **_demanding in bed ???_ **

Well, the only appropriate response to that is a white flag emoji. 

_and yet, you said let’s not rush this, let’s wait for the weekend, let’s take our time_

_i’m not sure i’m liking ur demands thus far_

(It is a small mercy that at this point, the babe has fallen fully asleep, and Gillian can have the use of both hands with which to whinge.) 

**_We’ve waited years, Gillian. I’ll make it worth your while- don’t fret._ **

Honestly, the fact that Caroline’s perpetual condescension is a turn-on is maybe a red flag, but it’s been three days since that f- bloody kiss, and madness is perfectly reasonable under such dire circumstances. As is calling Caz at- she squints at her watch- 10:47 on a weeknight. 

“How long?” 

“Hi Gillian, I had a lovely day, thanks for asking. How can I help you?” 

“Small talk is for people who hate each other, Caz. You said you’ve waited years- when did- when did you first… want me?” 

She cringes at the sound of her voice quavering. So much for the faint hope of phone sex.

“To be honest, I thought you were a rude pillock with a fantastic ass the first time we met, but I didn’t begin to _like_ you at all until that night when Alan and my mum were locked in Southowram Hall. But I didn’t really feel any sort of mutual- I thought, well maybe I hoped somewhere deep down, that you were going to kiss me the night you told me about…” 

“Oh, god, that’s well, might’ve been a better choice on my part, all things considered.” 

She hears Caroline’s exhale, wonders if she smells of wine or of toothpaste at the minute. 

“Well, I think what you did was much more intimate, you know, ultimately. And it’s not an issue, it’s not a burden you have to bear with me, or worry about me finding out, so… we got where we needed to be, I think. How long for you, then?” 

“I mean, I do have eyes, Caroline.” 

“Okay, we’ve settled that we both found each other attractive, but when did you actually fancy me? Oh god, I feel like a teenager just saying that.” 

“When me dad had his heart attack, you were so… gentle. I’d never seen you like that, I’d seen you polite, and maternal, and worried, but never… I don’t know, I guess it occurred to me that I could be safe with you.” 

“And that’s why you confided in me-” 

“Yeah.” 

Gillian swallows, readying herself for one more confession, one last exorcism. 

“Eddie knew, that I fancied women, sometimes, and he used to give me hell about it. Laugh at me, tell me I was a worthless dyke and only he would ever want anything to do with me, go out of his way to embarrass me around women…” 

“Oh, Gillian, I’m so sorry.” 

(The fact that she truly means it is the only thing that keeps Gillian from reacting badly.) 

“Anyways, I reckon that’s why it’s taken me so long to do owt about it, with his f- bloody voice in my head all the time.” 

“Is he still there, with me?” 

“No, no, I think you’ve finally scared him off. He were a coward, knew when he’d met his match.” 

“If anyone’s brave here, it’s _you_ , Gillian.” 

“Listen, I don’t want to go over it all with a fine-toothed comb anymore, I just needed to know-” 

“-That he was wrong.” 

She hums her affirmation. 

“I couldn’t want you more if I tried, darling, and I’m _very_ good at trying.” 

(Caroline deserves a medal for her ability to navigate changes of subject with such finesse. Gillian expects she deserves medals for many, many wonderful abilities, actually.) 

“What else are you good at?” 

“I prefer to show, not tell, but since I won’t see you for two more days, I suppose I can think of a few skills I hope to demonstrate…” 

_ 

Caroline insists on picking up Gillian at the farm and driving them into town for an official first date (which, to Gillian feels a bit unnecessary when declarations of love and pining have already been said, but nobler sacrifices have been made). 

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t even come into the house. If I come back to Ruth in my bed I’ll be very irritated.” 

“I’m old-fashioned,” Caroline grins, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel to whatever symphony is playing on the radio.

“And, I can’t believe that you actually listen to this shit. Not one likes classical music, they just pretend to, so everyone knows how cultured and educated they are. You don’t have to pretend with me, Caroline!” 

“I find it soothing. And Kate was very adamant that her students understand that classical music is for everyone- and classical actually refers to the period, not the genre. Anyways, as long as it’s not Opera, I find it calming- am I not entitled to a bit of relaxation after a long work day?” 

“I could’ve relaxed you better, but you wouldn’t come in the house. See what I did there? You know, I like opera, actually, that’s the only good bit. Drama and men in makeup- it’s everything I loved about Culture Club.” 

“Change the station if it bothers you so much- we’ve only got five minutes left.” 

“You sure you’re okay with being seen with me?” 

“Gillian, how many times have we gone out to dinner just the two of us? No one’s going to think anything unless we start snogging over the table, which, alluring as you are, has never been my style.” 

“I could’ve cooked! Think of the environmental impacts of driving out here and back.” 

Caroline pulls into the car park and gives her a long look that’s both incisive and tender. 

“I thought it would be nice to have something to properly commemorate this fresh start. And I can ask you all the little first date questions that somehow we’ve missed in our years of knowing one another, like, what did orchestras do to hurt you, and Boy George or George Michael?” 

“George Michael, he supported the miners’ strike. Hey, at least we know we both voted remain!” 

“And then, after dinner,” Caroline leans across the gearshift; Gillian melts into her seat, “I’ll come in your house.” 

“Tease!” Gillian shouts, following after a Caroline who’s already stood at the door, gallantly holding it open for her date. 

_

“You don’t have a favourite book?” 

“Stop looking at me like I told you I hate sunshine.” 

“You know what, I respect that answer more than just saying whatever shit you were forced to read at private school that you hated the least. Better no favourite book than _Jane Eyre_.”

“Surely there are people out there who genuinely like Bronte?” 

“Yeah, and they’re boring and insufferable. Lucky for you, you’re neither. Very sufferable, you are.” 

“I had no idea you had such strong opinions on pop culture. Is it a deal breaker that I haven’t sat down and actually watched a film in a decade?” 

Gillian rubs her hands together excitedly. 

“We’ll make up for lost time. First, the classics: _The Philadelphia Story,_ because, you are the Tracy Lord of West Yorkshire. _His Girl Friday_ , in order to increase our quips-per-minute ratio. Round it out with _It Happened One Night_ to honor the golden-era pre-Hayes code, and that’s your Sunday, sorted.” 

“And what do I get in return for this diligent study?” 

“The journey is its own reward!” 

Caroline raises a brow. 

“And I’ll let you feel me up during the slow bits.” 

(Caroline doesn’t need to know that her selections are so magnificently paced that there _are_ no slow bits. Sometimes, you’ve gotta give ‘em a win.)

Caroline settles the bill (and for once, Gillian doesn’t argue, as she did ask _her_ out), and they make their way all-too-slowly back to the farmhouse. 

“It’s mad that despite all the horribly dismaying information I’ve just learned, I’m still attracted to you.” 

“Oh, please, I bet half the blokes you slept with didn’t know where Hollywood is.” 

“Yeah, but I wasn’t attracted to them.” 

The air buzzes in the confined space, and Gillian ponders the possibility of ball lightning forming inside a luxury SUV. 

“I keep finding myself thinking, ‘this can’t be happening, you can’t be this happy, right now,’ waiting for the other shoe to drop.” 

When Caroline whispers, the sounds all move to the front of her mouth, trapped tight behind her teeth, sibilant yet articulate. 

(Gillian has studied her speech obsessively, mapping the gulfs between them of class and personality. When she whispers, it’s gravel trapped in her throat, muddled and afraid. She has to speak simply, or she’d never be heard. And if the whole of England abandoned articles, they’d get a lot more done, Gillian thinks.) 

“I remind myself that if I don’t deserve nice things, you do, and maybe I could _be_ a nice thing, for you.” 

Caroline pulls the car to the side of the road and kisses her soundly (managing to resume their journey before the authorities are alerted and Cheryl arrives to fuck up her life once again. The vibrator might not be _entirely_ unwelcome this time…). 

  
“I think maybe you could be the _nicest_ thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promise i'll give you heathens proper smut in the next chapter hahah 
> 
> or, improper, as it were


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which deeds are done, feelings are felt, dogs sleep where they're not supposed to.
> 
> (cw: mentions of past physical abuse)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my brain is broken; all errors are mine!!

Caroline’s always been a bit… self-centered where sex is concerned. 

Not in a selfish way- more like insecure to the point of narcissism. 

With John it was: _Am I adequately performing the role of heterosexual woman enjoying herself_? 

With Kate: _Will I ever be good enough for this woman who’s clearly on a different level of emotional enlightenment than all other beings_? (That, and the spectre of “a few awkward fumbles” constantly hovering about)

And with Olga, well, frankly Caroline doesn’t understand how men regularly sleep with women 20 years younger than them and twice as fit without a moment of self-doubt. It’s exhausting, being so constantly worried about adequately covering the marks of time (and gravity) on the body. 

She’d always sort of expected Gillian to take the lead (if they ever arrived at this point) given her apparent utter lack of hang-ups around sex. 

But as soon as they enter the farmhouse, Gillian is all nerves, despite their confident banter (and rather intense snog). 

Her hands shake as she pours them wine, and by the time Caroline brings Ruth in, her eyes are unfocused, her body tense. Caroline takes the glass gently, letting her fingers brush Gillian’s, bringing her back to the present.

“We don’t have to do anything, you know. I would love nothing more than to have this wine and have a decent night’s sleep without being awaken by a five-year-old at the crack of dawn.” 

Gillian looks up, shaky but sure. 

“As long as that dog stays downstairs, I would love nothing more than to take you to bed.” 

(She waggles her eyebrows for dramatic effect. )

Caroline snorts. 

“I’ll bet you would. “ 

A pause. A sip. A whine (from Ruth). 

“I have scars.” 

“I know, you’ve told me.” 

“But you haven’t _seen_ them. There’s some no one has, except for Eddie. I just, I don’t want you to be alarmed. Or disgusted.” 

“Gillian, I could _never_.” 

Gillian averts her eyes, fidgeting her hands in the ends of her sleeves. 

Caroline quiets her hands with her own. 

“Our bodies tell our stories. Mine _literally_ carries the weight of my grief. Yours shows you survived. It’s admirable, and beautiful, and it’s yours- so, in my opinion, it’s perfect.” 

“Does that line work on all the girls, now?” 

“Only the ones that count.” 

_ 

They don’t actually divest of their clothing- in fact, they don’t even make it upstairs, at first.

Once Gillian makes up her mind, she makes up her mind, and a slow kiss in the kitchen quickly turns into Gillian sat in her lap on the settee. 

Caroline, well-versed in the scientific method, mentally records her observation. 

Hypothesis: Biting Gillian’s pulse point will make her curse. 

Observation: Biting Gillian’s pulse point does make her curse, but not in the way intended. 

Evidence: “You really think you’re going to make me come first, you snotty fucking head teacher megalomaniac twat? Think again.” Followed by: removal of Caroline’s pants, Gillian kneeling on the floor, and very effective methods of cunnilingus. 

Conclusion: Gillian is a top; Caroline is surprisingly into class-warfare roleplay. 

Other notable discoveries include: 

  * The more Caroline teases Gillian, the more inventive insults get thrown her way (“you only vote labour because you fuck women” “Your underwear costs more than I make in a week and I fully intend to rip it to shreds” and “Bet you won’t sound so fucking posh when I’m sitting on your face.” ) Both parties find this arrangement quite suitable. 
  * Gillian is immediately repentant in the aftermath. (“I didn’t like, actually mean all that.” “Well, maybe a bit, but you know, not in a bad way.”) Caroline hasn’t laughed so hard in ages. (“Turns out I get off on getting knocked down a peg or two. I suppose that’s why I fancied you in the first place, isn’t it?”) 
  * Post-coital Gillian is too blissed out to complain when Ruth barges into the bedroom and hops into bed with them. Come sunrise, though, she has a few choice words for the uninvited third. 



In the morning, Caroline wakes to Gillian bringing her a cup of tea, clad in an oversized t-shirt that makes her look much younger. Caroline takes a minute to imagine a world where they’d met decades before, pre-children and marriage and heartbreak. Would it have been as inevitable then? 

“You writing a dissertation over there or what?”

“Hmmm. Just thinking about how nice your legs are.” 

“So you _are_ working on a second doctorate. Vital field of study, these gams.” 

She drapes them across Caroline’s lap, and Caroline can’t argue with her- at the moment, everything else pales in comparison. 

She lets herself move slowly now, admiring the articulation of each muscle, hesitating as she waits for Gillian’s assent as she begins to lift the hem of the shirt above her hips, over her head, kissing each inch of revealed skin as she goes. 

The scars are there, but fainter than she expected. She looks up, meeting Gillian’s cautious gaze. 

“Alright?” 

Gillian nods, biting her lip and leaning back on her elbows and Caroline continues her journey until she’s eye-to-eye with Gillian again. 

“Doesn’t seem fair, “ she gestures towards Caroline’s own covered chest, “Considering you’re the one with the magnificent tits and all.” 

Caroline rolls her eyes, leaning back to strip off her own shirt and toss it aside (no, she doesn’t always fold every item of clothing upon its removal, _thank you_ ).

“Sweet talker.” 

Gillian’s grin transforms from shit-eating to reverent. 

“You look like a bloody Botticelli painting, Caz. _Christ_.”

“Oh, shut up.” 

“Hmm, gladly.” 

(Observation: Gillian is very good at finding other ways to keep her mouth busy.) 

  
  


“Wait, wasn’t I getting _you_ naked? Not Fair!” 

“Are you telling me you want me to stop?” 

For once in her life, Caroline’s lost the will to argue. 

_

Somehow, life returns to normal in the span of a few hours; clothes found, showers had, children fetched. 

If Flora notices any change in her mother, she doesn’t comment on it, happy to tell story after story about her weekend with Calamity. 

Caroline finds herself restless as the evening draws on. And needy. She hates it. 

But she texts Gillian anyways (to call would be to admit defeat). 

**Is it weird that I miss you?**

_Nah, I’m v easy to miss._

**She’s got jokes, folks!**

_(i miss u 2)_

_(u rich twat)_

Gillian isn’t too proud to ring (yet one more thing to love about her). 

“You can call me, Caz, I’m under no impression that you’re playing hard to get.” 

“Sod off. This bed’s too big. I’m thinking about downsizing.” 

“What do you know, I’ve got an absolutely shit one over here. You should join me in it.” 

“Or, I could move my luxurious fancy bed to yours…” 

“If you want to move in, just ask.” 

“Fine. What if, we thought about, eventually pooling our resources- at Slack Run Farm, instead of trying to find a new place?” 

“I think your mother would have an aneurysm if you and Flora moved out here.” 

“Yeah, well, that’s just an added bonus.” 

“Seeing as the previous offer did not include you, naked in my bed, I’m willing to reconsider prior negotiations.” 

“So many upsides to this arrangement!” 

“But the dog sleeps downstairs.” 

Caroline looks over at Ruth, ruefully. 

“The dog sleeps downstairs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i live in the states, and it's pretty chaotic rn but i unexpectedly had the bandwidth to write a little- it's important to take care of ourselves, and escapist fanfic is part of that so! 
> 
> donate to ur local bail fund, organize in your community, and love each other as best you can, y'all! <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which all's well that ends well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> had a few loose ends i wanted to tie up before putting this one to bed. and the prospect of a celia meltdown was too tempting, sorry not sorry.

Gillian and Caroline finally getting their shit together (romantically speaking) coincides with the summer holiday, so instead of traveling to Barcelona this year, they spend most of August attempting to sort out Caroline’s move before the school year starts up again. 

The physical logistics aren’t so hard; Raff helps with unpacking boxes, once the movers that Caroline insisted on have gone (there are, perhaps, some advantages to bedding posh twats, Gillian concedes), and Greg takes Flora for a few days so they’re not worried about losing track of a child in between moving things back and forth (it certainly doesn’t hurt that Gillian gets Caroline all to herself, though they’re too bloody tired to do much about it). 

Caroline informs her that even though she hasn’t sold the house yet, it’s a seller’s market (whatever the hell that means), and with her already being moved out it will be easier to entice a buyer (“As far as six year olds go, Flora’s quite neat, but getting that last bit of glitter cleaned up really made the difference, I think”). Flora, for her part, has expressed nothing but joy at the prospect of living with the sheep full time, and excitedly suggests that Calam simply move back in, sans Raff and Ellie. 

(On Calamity’s ornier days, Gillian suspects they would jump at the offer, even if it isn’t quite Flora’s to make.) 

Gillian offers to let Caroline put some of her things in the guest room, in case of surprise Celia visits, but she declines, muttering something about “being too old and frankly, past the point of caring about her mother’s approval.” 

After the last stack of scientific texts has found a home on a surprisingly heavy bookshelf, Raff makes his leave. 

“Right, well, I’ll leave you two to it.” 

He turns to Caroline, looking remarkably like his grandfather as he sizes her up.

“Mom’s always easier to handle when you’re around, Caroline. You’re good for her.” 

“Oh, she’s plenty good for me,” Caroline answers graciously, and Gillian would come back with an overly obvious innuendo were her son not the instigator of this topic of conversation. 

So instead, she rolls her eyes and pulls him in for a tight hug. 

“I’m happy for you,” he whispers into her hair. “She’s a lot prettier than Uncle Robbie, isn’t she?” 

Gillian barks out a laugh, proud that while her eyes prickle with tears, none actually fall. 

_

“God, I’m exhausted,” Caroline moans, flopping down on the bed ( _ her _ bed, in Gillian’s room, thoroughly eliminating any possibility of pretending like they aren’t shagging). 

Gillian is also bone-tired, but also halfway down a panic-spiral- now she has the spectre of  _ Celia  _ and her incessant fucking judgment haunting her thoughts.

“Need to check on sheep. There’s leftovers in fridge if you need them.” 

Caroline grunts, halfway asleep already, and Gillian trudges back outside. 

The sheep are fine, really (a bit hungry, so it wasn’t a total waste of a trip), although they clearly intuit that _ she’s _ not, nuzzling against her inquisitive as if to say “ _ c’mon, it’ll all be alright, please don’t go full on mad, we couldn’t bear to deal with any other people, you’ve put us through enough as is. _ ” 

“Well, it weren’t me that got you lot stoned, were it? That were all your own fault.” 

The bleat out of her youngest reminds her that the sheep didn’t open the gate themselves. 

“Okay, we can all take some responsibility. But it were me that got you home safe, weren’t it?” 

She hears a chuckle and turns to see Caroline sipping a mug of tea, her eyes sparkling with mirth. 

“Should I be concerned that you’re talking to the sheep, or is that just a regular occasion to which I’ll now be privy?”

“Only in times of crisis. They’re good listeners. Never interrupt me when I’m trying to sort my thoughts out.” 

“Are you having second thoughts? About me being here?”

Gillian rubs her hands on her jeans, stuffs her hands in her pockets to stop them fidgeting. 

“It’s not you, Caz, it’s… everyone else.”

Caroline nods, ewe-like, encouraging her to finish her monologue. 

“See- the thing about being a slag is, well, people stop caring after a while, who it is you sleep with, and seeing as no one sticks around it’s not even worth keeping a record, most of the time. But you’re- this clearly isn’t a one night stand that everyone else can politely ignore, y’know?” 

Caroline steps closer, leads her by the shoulder inside, brushes the fringe out of her eyes with cool, dry hands. 

“I can tell them, if you want. I mean, I’m planning to explain everything to Flora when she gets home, and she’s not likely to keep the news under wraps, so.”

Gillian sighs, opening her palms upward to the will of the universe.

“I was thinking that most likely, dinner on Sunday would probably just devolve into an absolute shitshow.”

“That sounds about right for us, doesn’t it?”

Caroline laughs at the cosmic joke (maybe Gillian will ask her to explain it in scientific terms sometime, the slapstick of creation). 

“Are  _ you _ having second thoughts?”

Caroline shakes her head, manoeuvring around Gillian to put a frozen pizza in the oven. 

“I like it when you get visibly upset by my mother. Makes me feel less alone.” 

“You don’t think we have to worry about me dad?” 

“Please, Alan loves me.”

“You know, you could think about not insulting me in my own home.”

“ _ Our _ home, Gillian.” 

“Your name’s not on the f- bloody deed yet, and if you keep on like that it won’t be!” 

Caroline interrupts her with a kiss, sweet and firm, and oh, it’s  _ nice _ to be in a kitchen, kissing someone she  _ actually _ wants to kiss. 

“Box says this takes twenty-two minutes to cook- shall we put on  _ Woman of the Year  _ and I’ll give you a foot massage?” 

“Make it a backrub and  _ Adam’s Rib  _ and I’ll consider the offer.”

“You strike a hard bargain, Greenwood, but I think I can make that work.” 

_

They fall asleep early, the sun’s fading light still lingering. Gillian wakes to Caroline’s heavy breathing and the warm weight of her leg draped across her, protective. 

She doesn’t feel like she needs to run. In fact, she feels… safe. 

Gillian usually wakes with a start, prepared to fight. It’s how she meets the day, and most of the people in it, nervous system on alert, prepared to hit back at the slightest provocation. 

But Caroline slumbers on, and Gillian is content to watch her, run her fingers over the soft strip of skin above her hips. 

Caroline hums, stretches, murmurs “that’s nice,” shifting her weight onto her back so Gillian can expand her caresses. 

She likes this Caz, open and relaxed, with all the time of the world. Gillian’s hands continue their explorations, ghosting across her stomach, just barely grazing the edge of breasts, dipping down to the waistband of her pajamas, teasing at the elastic. 

Caroline’s hums turn to happy sighs, and she arches into Gillian’s touch, her eyes closed still, but clearly awake.

It’s not an impatient gesture, when she grasps Gillian’s wrist and guides her hand between her legs, more like an invitation. 

_ Door’s open, come on in. I’ve already got a fire on and everything!  _

Gillian has, of course, spent plenty of time imagining what it would be like to fuck a woman (and Caroline, specifically), but the act itself feels so more prayerful than her sexually frustrated fantasies. 

Touching Caroline is better than being touched, better than making an incredible joke, or drinking really nice scotch, or hearing the perfect song on a busted old jukebox. 

She comes quickly and easily, like coasting over a hill, half-opening her eyes and beaming at Gillian. 

“I could get used to that. Hmmmm.” 

“Well, if we survive the day, I’d be up to a repeat performance in the future.” 

Caroline lets herself fully awake, shifting from pillow princess to problem solver. 

“It’ll be fine, Gillian. And even if it’s not, well, I love you, and you love me, and the rest of it isn’t so consequential is it?” 

“Well, we’ve got Raff and Ellie on our side, so I’ll still get to see the grandkids.” 

“Oh, I meant to tell you,” Caroline yawns, “I told Will on our call the other day- forgot to let you know. Of course, he had assumed that we were already together at the wake, seeing as how you insisted on sharing chairs and loudly declaring our date plans, so he wasn’t really  _ surprised _ , but he’s, you know, fully supportive.” 

“Hey, we’ve got Judith in our corner, too,” Gillian deadpans. 

“God, wouldn’t she love to be a fly on the wall.” 

“I’m just… at some point I’d like to stop being a disappointment to my father.” 

Caroline wraps her arms around her, pulls her in tight and close. 

“You won’t be. You _ aren’t _ . “

For the time being, she lets herself believe her. 

_

Ruth shoots Gillian a dirty look when they come down stairs, but quickly returns to her ebullient self when Caroline gives her a hearty slap on the rump and takes her out for a wee and a game of fetch. 

Gillian busies herself with breakfast and tea, and it’s not long before Caroline returns inside with Flora, and an even happier dog. 

“Greg had to make a quick turnaround, but he passed on his congrats for, living in sin, I suppose,” Caroline tosses over her shoulder, as she leads Flora upstairs to show her her new room. 

Gillian hears a tiny voice asking “what does living in sin mean?” and Caroline promising to explain over toast. 

_ Jesus.  _

Flora takes five minutes to recount every single thing that happened with Greg, and Gillian picks at her food, more nervous than she anticipated about the potential rejection of someone who still takes naps on a regular basis.

“Flora, do you know how Greg lives with Kelly?” 

“Yeah, she’s his girlfriend,” Flora explains, wondering why her mum is treating her like a child. 

“Right, well, me- us- moving in with Aunt Gillian is kind of like Kelly moving in with Greg.”

“Aunt Gillian is your Sugar Daddy?”

(Gillian manages not to pass out when she chokes; she’ll call that a win.” 

“Right, okay, mummy was in a very bad mood when she said that about Greg, and she’s sorry. Aunt Gillian is my…” (It occurs to Gillian that they hadn’t decided on terminology) “person. My special person.” 

“Like Mummy Kate?”

Flora’s face looks both confused and hopeful, and Gillian would love to be able to just pass out under the table right now, but Caroline gives her a look so full of love that she manages to hold onto consciousness. 

“Yes, like Mummy Kate. And Mummy Kate is still my special person, too, she always will be. But Aunt Gillian makes me very happy. And I think I make her pretty happy too.” 

“Well, that makes me happy,” Flora declares, haphazardly smearing jam on her bread. 

“I’m very glad you’re both here,” Gillian manages. “Would you like to help me feed the sheep after breakfast?” 

“YEAH!” 

One crisis averted, two to go. 

_ 

Celia and Alan arrive early, which is the first strike against them (no baby to distract everyone yet). 

Celia greets them with a kiss on the cheek and a hug, Alan following close behind. He comments on how nice the farmhouse looks with Caroline’s high-brow touch (it certainly smells expensive- Gillian doesn’t want to know what Caroline’s candle budget is, it will probably cause her to make origami guillotines), while Celia asks Caroline yet again if she’s sure about this, if Flora really needs to grow up on a farm, if she’s not so certain she won’t want to meet a nice woman and settle down. 

“I’m settled, mum. This is settling.” 

“You know what I mean,” Celia scoffs, eyeing Gillian with derision.

_ Hey lady, I bought you knickers so you could have it off with me dad. I’d be nicer to me if I were you.  _

“Yes, I do,” Caroline answers, pinching the bridge of her nose, clearly weighing how angry she needs to be before she just yells out that she and Gillian are fucking. 

Flora and Alan are sat on the couch, and she’s leaned over whispering in his ear. 

“Did you know Aunt Gillian is mummy’s special person? Like Mummy Kate!” 

His eyes widen, but he nods calmly, turning to look at Gillian. 

“Is the telling truth?” He whispers. 

Gillian gestures to the door. 

“Right, I’m gonna show dad the progress on the new barn, we’ll be right back.” 

Caroline raises a brow in question, but lets her go without protest. 

_

“So, you and Caroline…” Alan trails off, looking out on the view they used to share. 

“Um, yeah, I know it’s not… conventional, but well, maybe it’s more conventional than most of the other things I’ve done, all things considered.” 

“You’ve certainly done worse than her,” he laughs, and it feels a bit more like an inside joke than it used to. 

“I don’t know that she’s done worse than me, though.” 

“Now you know I don’t like to speak ill of folk, but I think anyone would agree you’re a sight better than that John.” 

“If it’s too weird- if you need some time with it- well I thought we’d end up telling you at the end of the meal, so if you need to go that’s alright.” 

“No, no, it’s not- well it _ is  _ surprising, I’ll admit, but not upsetting, at least not for me, you know how Celia can be... “

“Do I ever.” 

“But, Gillian, all I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy, you know that. And you two, well you seem very happy. I don’t know that I want to think past that, just now, but I’m glad for you both.”

“Thanks, Dad.” 

She hugs him tight, leaving the faint trace of tears on the shoulder of his sportcoat. 

“Shall we see how the Dawson women are getting on?” 

“You did take your medication today, yeah?”

_

“You're  _ sharing _ a room.” 

“We wanted to make sure there was plenty of room for guests,” Caroline deadpans, clearly already over this conversation. 

“Caroline, she’s your step-sister! I’m _ appalled. _ ” 

“Mum, we met when we were  _ forty-six _ . We’ve never actually lived under the same roof, until now, and we have no legal obligation to one another, unless we decide some day to get married, which you know, frankly isn’t the best track record for either of us, though they do say third time’s the charm, but I’d just as soon not risk either of us dying or expatriating.” 

“Hello, love,” Alan coos, attempting to soothe Celia from the brink of apoplexy. 

Gillian joines Caroline, rubbing her hand in small circles over her upper back. 

“You’re not having me on? Gillian, I know you like to play jokes and muck about.” 

“‘Fraid not, Celia. I’m thoroughly besotted with your daughter. I understand if that blights your precious reputation, although insulting my breeding might reflect poorly on your own romantic choices.” 

“And everybody is just  _ fine  _ with this? I truly feel like I’ve gone mad.” 

“We think it’s great,” Ellie chimes in (Gillian had missed their arrival in the middle of this meltdown, and if she doesn’t make it back to the kitchen, lunch might end up inedible on top of everything else). 

“What’s great?” Calamity pouts. 

“Mummy and Aunt Gillian are in loooooove,” Flora giggles. 

“Ewwww that’s so gross!” Calamity laughs, “I bet they have cooties!” 

“She’s not a homophobe,” Raff clarifies, “she’s just at that age where she thinks kissing is the worst thing a person can do. I can’t even kiss Ellie goodbye in the morning without getting heckled.” 

Smoke wafts through the air. 

“Oh, f-- bloody hell, the roast is burned.” 

“Well, I’ve certainly lost my appetite,” Celia huffs. “Alan, don’t you think we’d better be going?”

“Come on Celia, don’t be like that. Not after all you and Caroline have been through. Is it really, when you think about it, a total surprise?” 

Celia looks between them, searching for god knows. 

“I didn’t think we had two lesbians in the family.”

“If we’re splitting hairs, mother, I think Gillian’s a bisexual.” 

“What, so she’s going to leave you for a man in a few months’ time? I just don’t think you’re being a responsible mother here-” 

“-Just because you let yourself be miserable in your marriage doesn’t mean I have to be.” 

“Celia,” Gillian interjects, her voice shaky and foreign. “I have no intention of leaving Caroline. Ever. Not that that’s really your business, but it’s true. Now I can’t expect her to never get sick of me, but I’m playing for keeps.” 

Caroline mouths “I love you,” at her, and Gillian fears nothing. Not the ghost of Eddie, not the wrath of Celia, not even the depth of her own feelings. 

Raff starts a slow clap, eagerly joined by Ellie and the kids (Calamity never misses the opportunity to take a bit of the spotlight), and even Alan applauds, though he’s careful not to smile too big, lest Celia really give him the what-for. 

“I’m not asking you to understand me,” Caroline pleads. “I’m just asking you to be happy that I’m happy. It’s been a _ hard _ few years.” 

  
  


Celia accepts defeat, since she’s clearly without allies here. 

“Can we at least drive into town for dinner? I’d just as soon not have the charred remnants of a roast.” 

Alan quickly offers to pay, and everyone else eagerly scrambles to their cars (Calamity insisting on riding with Flora, because they have  _ soooo much to catch up on, Granny _ ). 

Greasy pub food isn’t worthy of Caroline, Gillian thinks, but the nine of them crowded around a table, bumping elbows and laughing (even Celia, who’s commandeered the baby, who loves nothing more than playing with her jewelry) feels like an auspicious enough start to whatever this ends up being. 

There were many years where Gillian couldn’t find the ground in front of her feet, where the next morning seemed an impossibility, much less the next week, or month. 

But through the late summer haze, she can see Christmas mornings and graduations and wedding days. 

Caroline’s so right hand finds her left, under the table. 

It was one of the things she noticed, that clued her into just how much mental real estate Caroline had claimed for herself- she always leaves a spot for Caroline to sit on her left, so they don’t bump elbows as they eat. 

Grace is not something that comes easily to Gillian, and rarely is it automatic. 

But for Caroline, she will make a little more room.

Table after table, time after time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! forgot how much i missed my gals <3

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me about how u would like to see sarah lancashire and nicola walker kiss on a television screen near you


End file.
